3113
Hello Summer!
- Joined
- Nov 1, 2005
- Posts
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McKenna has posted #6 of common writing mistakes and points out, rightly, that "Fiction is movement. Description is static" and that "readers are interested in the story -the movement- not your fine prose."
Yet I find so many readers interested in books with rich descriptions, that I kinda wonder if this is really true--though, granted, budding writers often can't see the forest for the trees, and their descriptions might not be fine prose at all
And, granted, we write erotica where readers often want us to chuck the pretty descriptions and get to the "good stuff"--after all they've got their bottle of KY waiting, right?
Still. Below are four descriptions. You might or might not recognize them from books you've read. Do they keep the story moving or, being a description, make it go static? Which ones do you like or don't like and why? Is it because the writer seems to be indulging in pretty pose and the story has gone static? Or, to the contrary, have you been captured and captivated by the pretty prose and the writer could go on for pages and you wouldn't mind? Obviously, these are from very good writers who, presumably, knew what they were doing and had a reason to write the description as they did. Still, I'd like to know, as modern readers, what you think. I'll add a poll to see which one most of you like best.
Book #1:
Book #2:
Book #3:
Book #4:
Yet I find so many readers interested in books with rich descriptions, that I kinda wonder if this is really true--though, granted, budding writers often can't see the forest for the trees, and their descriptions might not be fine prose at all
Still. Below are four descriptions. You might or might not recognize them from books you've read. Do they keep the story moving or, being a description, make it go static? Which ones do you like or don't like and why? Is it because the writer seems to be indulging in pretty pose and the story has gone static? Or, to the contrary, have you been captured and captivated by the pretty prose and the writer could go on for pages and you wouldn't mind? Obviously, these are from very good writers who, presumably, knew what they were doing and had a reason to write the description as they did. Still, I'd like to know, as modern readers, what you think. I'll add a poll to see which one most of you like best.
Book #1:
The rags of the squalid ballad-
singer fluttered in the rich light that showed the goldsmith's
treasures, pale and pinched-up faces hovered about the windows where
was tempting food, hungry eyes wandered over the profusion guarded
by one thin sheet of brittle glass--an iron wall to them; half-naked
shivering figures stopped to gaze at Chinese shawls and golden
stuffs of India. There was a christening party at the largest
coffin-maker's and a funeral hatchment had stopped some great
improvements in the bravest mansion. Life and death went hand in
hand; wealth and poverty stood side by side; repletion and
starvation laid them down together....But it was London
Book #2:
When we arrived it was quite empty, except for a policeman sitting near the door, the wife of the proprietor back of the zinc bar, and the proprietor himself....There were long benches, and tables ran across the room, and at the far end a dancing-floor.
Book #3:
On buffet tables, garnished with glistening hors-dÕoeuvre, spiced baked hams crowded against salads of harlequin designs and pastry pigs and turkeys bewitched to a dark gold. In the main hall a bar with a real brass rail was set up, and stocked with gins and liquors and with cordials so long forgotten that most of his female guests were too young to know one from another.
Book #4:
A golden afternoon of late sunshine lay warm and drowsy upon the hidden land between. In the midst of it there wound lazily a dark river of brown water, bordered with ancient willows, arched over with willows, blocked with fallen willows, and flecked with thousands of willow-leaves. The air was thick with them, fluttering yellow from the branches; for there was a warm and gentle breeze blowing softly in the valley, and the reeds were rustling, and the willow-boughs were creaking.
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